Ironically
by patronuses
Summary: Ziva sulks in a bar, and Tony tries to coax her out of it. One-shot.


He spots her sitting in a booth at the center of the room, and it throws him off balance. The sight of her at the bar makes him freeze and do a double-take and confirm that yes, she's here, and no, he hasn't gone insane. Not yet, anyway.

Smoothing down his shirt and running a hand through his undone hair, he starts toward her. He's starting to feel jittery inside, which is strange in itself because she isn't supposed to make him feel nervous. Unfortunately, she has for years, and he still hasn't found away around the natural reaction. For the sake of his sanity, he tries not to linger on the thought. Halfway there, she raises her head from the table and spots him. Her eyes narrow dangerously, and her expression turns ice-cold. She murmurs something, and he has to squint to read her lips.

"Great."

This causes his face to fall just a bit, but he quickly fixes it and flashes her a grin. Seeing her is a pleasant surprise, and he won't let anything, even her, dampen that. So without an ounce of hesitation, he slips into the seat across from her, pointedly ignoring her warning glare. Waving a waitress over, he gives her his normal order of scotch on the rocks and settles into his seat further. Leaning toward her with his face too close for comfort, he continues to smile at her.

When it becomes obvious that she isn't going to speak first, he cheerfully asks, "What brings you here, Miss Ziva David?"

She looks away and stirs the contents of her drink with her straw without giving him even the slightest glance. Impatiently, she dead-pans, "What do you want, Tony?"

He presses his lips hard against each other with his eyebrows knitting together. Her tone is not the usual 'you're-irritating-but-I-still-like-you', but a different irritation, a 'don't-fuck-with-me' irritation, one that may actually result in physical harm. Though, he isn't really concerned about his physical well-being at the moment, so he presses on, "Nothing. I came for a drink. I found out that you're here. I thought I should give you company, yeah?"

Ziva studies her fingernails and continues with her hard tone, "I do not need company."

Tony huffs in annoyance, crossing his arms like a small child. She's starting to ruffle his feathers and harm his self-esteem. He whines, "Well, why not?"

She's still not looking at him. "I wanted to drink alone."

Gnawing on his cheek, he can't think of anything else to say except, "Well, that's a lonely thing."

The table must have a secret carved into the wood, a microscopic secret that only trained ninjas can see because fuck, she's _still _not looking at him. "Maybe I want to be lonely."

Her stubbornness elicits a half-amused smile from him. He snorts, slamming his palms against the table, "Ha, I beg to differ."

Her head suddenly snaps up, and there's something more than irritation in her eyes. It makes Tony's eyes narrow and his raise his chin determinedly, even though he doesn't really have anything to prove by the action. He mostly wants to stand up to her. If she could be stubborn, he could be stubborn too.

Ziva's jaw is taut when she says simply, "Leave."

If he was smart, he would agree, but he isn't. He's trying desperately to get a reading of what's going on in her head using his Ziva-o-meter, but he's coming up with zilch. This starts to irritate him, and the look on her face doesn't help matters because she's glaring daggers with her eyes, and they're starting to feel like they're breaking through his skin. His scotch was placed in front of him at some point during their practically one-sided conversation, and to make a point, he takes a sip and sets the glass down hard.

With foolish determination, he growls, "No."

Ziva repeats, slowly, starting to seethe with anger. "_Leave."_

Through his well-worn ears, he hears pain beneath the surface of her voice. Underneath all the frustration and irritation that may or may not be aimed at him, it's there.

He lets the tension defuse from his body with a sigh. His shoulders fall into a slump, and he leans forward again, his hands curled defensively around his glass of scotch. Tony stares at the curve of her face, and much to his surprise, she doesn't look away or break under his scrutinizing gaze. Ziva still looks pissed as hell, and he expects that much, but she isn't looking away and that's always a good sign.

Eventually, he tells her softly, "No. You want to know why? If you really wanted to be alone, you wouldn't have come to our normal bar. You would have gone to a different one so that there would be no chance of running into one of us. But you're here, you see, and that means that a part of you was _hoping _that someone would come in here. You were probably hoping for McGee or Abby or maybe even Palmer, but I'm sorry, it's me that you're stuck with. But I digress. You don't really want to be drinking alone at all."

She huffs and crosses her arms, and he knows that he's right.

He allows himself a brief moment of celebration, complete with a tiny grin and knocking back his drink. Afterward, he sobers though, giving her a meaningful look that she doesn't acknowledge because she's back to staring at the table.

He thinks fleetingly of the _'honesty is the best policy'_ bullshit as he asks quietly, "Ziva, what's wrong?"

"It is none of your concern."

He chuckles at her darkly, "I guess not, but I'd like it to be."

The truth slips from his lips, and he realizes his mistake after the words are gone. He can't take it back now. The words are enough to make her look at him though, and he thinks that maybe he actually did something right for once. She's visibly weighing his words, trying to decide if he's pulling her leg or trying to manipulate her. Her lips move against each other deliciously, like she's trying to savor the taste of something. He tries to keep his eyes away from the movement, swallowing nervously. When she still doesn't utter a word, he continues, "I mean - We're partners, right?"

Ziva tilts her head with accusation in her eyes, her tongue between her teeth.

Fuck. She's thinking of a way to slowly kill him.

Tony suddenly backtracks in fright, "I mean - Ziva. It's okay. If really want me to leave, I will. I'll go find another bar, and we'll pretend like this never happened. You know what? That's a great idea -"

He makes a move to stand, sliding out of the booth in a frenzied panic, but she steps on his foot under the table. Thankfully, it's not hard enough to break any of his toes, but it hurts enough to make him freeze in his place, halfway out of the booth.

"Sit," she commands simply, and he obediently sinks back into the cushion.

Her gaze makes him crumble to pieces, and he ducks his head, cradling his glass in his hands.

It isn't until he raises his head cautiously that she speaks.

"I officially broke it off with Ray."

Tony wants to jump from his seat and whoop with joy and punch the air in triumph, but he settles for twitching lips and a single nod. He wasn't really sure, with all this chaos still lingering from the Port-to-Port case. He's glad, really glad, because that bastard wasn't right for her at all, but he narrowly slipped through death's fingers just now, and he thinks that celebrating her break-up would be reason enough for her to murder him. It's proving hard to keep the smirk off his face, however.

Ziva heaves a loud sigh, and the look on her face makes his gleeful feelings deflate.

With an even voice, he pokes at the topic as gently as he can. He's dealing with a bomb, here. There's no room for mistakes. He wants to keep all of his limbs. "Your choice though, right?"

"Yes, my choice."

"Then, why the long face?"

She gives him a befuddled look that's priceless. If it were different circumstances, he would be enjoying it. He holds the laughter in, however, and clarifies, feeling as if he sounds foolish, "Why are you sad, Ziva?"

Ziva chews on her lip cutely - _Dear god, there's something wrong with him today_ - and eventually says, "He is not the right person for me."

He wants to shout "_Well, no shit. I could have told you that one, sweetcheeks", _but catches himself just before he does. He notes that he isn't having a good dealing-with-Ziva day at all. He's almost slipped up too many mistakes tonight. It's dangerous work because Tony wants to live a long, fulfilling life. Truthfully, he's old, but not that old, and he's still too young to die. There's no one to carry on the DiNozzo name, yet.

Putting his brain on mute, he tells her, "You win some, and you lose some."

She appears thoroughly crest-fallen, "Then I have lost all of them."

He realizes that this has nothing to do with the CIA agent at all.

Tony allows himself to bark a laugh because this isn't the Ziva he knows and loves at all. The idea of Ziva, depressed about her love-life amuses him to no end, and he takes pity on her. Through a fit of insanity, he nudges her under the table with his foot and makes her look at him. With the upmost sincerity, he tells her, "You'll get it right, Ziva. I promise you."

Her voice is thick with sarcasm, "Coming from a man who is in the same situation as I am, it is reassuring."

He winces. That one actually hurt.

He takes a drink to recover from the sting before trying again, "Come'on, Ziva. You're still young, and you're a hell of a lot younger than me. You've got time. Me, on the other hand," he laughs in a self-deprecating manner, "I gave up a long time ago."

"I think that I shall give up as well."

Tony sighs and accepts defeat. Judging by the look on her face and the feelings radiating off of her, she's a lost cause tonight. He would try to push harder, try to change her mind, but it's a touchy subject. There are things that are better left buried, and tonight isn't a night to bring up old demons. Not when the demons are still so fresh.

He only hopes that tomorrow, she'll wake up and realize he's right. He truly believes what he told her, and he knows deep in his gut that she'll get it right, one of these days. Ziva's too much of a fighter to let a chance slip away. Lord knows that she's earned the right to have the right person in her life, anyway. It stings a little, the thought of him left in the dust and her running off with some guy, but he missed his chance a long time ago - Hell, who is he kidding? It stings like a bitch.

It's funny. He thought he had finally gotten over her. Apparently not. Begrudgingly, he doubts he ever will.

It feels like a fresh wound again. He can practically feel blood trickling out of his chest.

It hurts, but a long time ago, he decided to himself that he'll take what he can get, and tonight, this is all he can get.

Truthfully, it'll probably be all he'll ever get, and he has to be okay with that.

Raising his glass, he smiles wryly, "At least we've got each other."

For the first time tonight, she gives him a look other than annoyance and smiles slightly. The look on her face is sad and broken-down, but it's not enough to make him feel concerned. It's a normal sadness that will be gone in due time, and by then, Ziva's wounds will all be healed and things will be back to normal. She will be back into the dating game, all flirty and saucy and irresistible, and he'll keep a watchful eye over her because that's what he does.

It's the least he can do.

Ziva touches her glass to his, and he thinks it seals the deal.

* * *

><p>AN: I've been on fire, lately.


End file.
